Donnatella Moss: the Edge of Insanity
by nefret24
Summary: Sequel to Donnatella's Diary. Takes place after The Fall's Going to Kill You. Donna deals with the MS crisis, the death of Mrs. L, and Josh. JD.
1. Default Chapter

Donnatella Moss: The Edge of Insanity

Donnatella Moss: The Edge of Insanity

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, plots, dialogue, tables, chairs, coffee mugs, salad forks, swimming pools, or rugs from The West Wing. So if you're looking for a nice presidential manila folder, you're going to have to go beg Aaron Sorkin, John Wells, and NBC. And if you don't return it in the same condition, those damn Warner Brothers will come around and break both your legs. And I still don't own any of Bridget Jones' stuff either. But then, Helen Fielding is much nicer about it than they are. Probably an English thing. 

Category: Josh/Donna

Rating: PG

Archiving: But of course. So long as you tell me where I can visit them.

Feedback: A must! The perfect accessory to any story!

Author's Note: Many reviews later, a relatively new fanfic author sighs and then, returning to her keyboard, proclaims: "The story must go on!" Hence, here it is: the sequel to my other fic "Donnatella's Diary." It takes place a little under a week after that story ends- also takes place directly after the episode The Fall's Going to Kill You. Let's just pretend that all that happened on this particular Thursday and goes on from there, shall we? 

Spoilers: The Fall's Going to Kill You and pretty much every J/D scene in every episode before that one. 

****

Thursday, April 13, 10:02 pm _ Number of people have informed about crashing satellite 189. Number of people showing the proper degree of concern 0. Number of times have been mocked today 189. Number of people who should be hit by flaming chunk of metal careening to Earth at phenomenal speed 189._

No one is listening to me today. I mean, they're listening and obviously they have the capacity to understand what I'm saying, cuz you have to have a certain degree of intelligence to work in the West Wing but they're not **listening** to me. I mean, for God's sake, there's this huge ass satellite that could come down anywhere at anytime, possibly setting off a nuclear reaction and killing off a vast number of people and all I get are raised eyebrows and scoffs. 

I mean, really. How can the severity of this situation escape them? 

The President should know about this. He should do something. The leader of the free world should take some action so that when the shit hits the fan, our bases are covered. 

Too many cliches in a row there. Gotta stop that. Diarists are unique and literary and certainly don't employ banal aphorisms and mixed metaphors. We're better than that. 

I wonder if the thing went nuclear in Washington if they would let me go underground with the President. I _am_ the Deputy-Deputy Chief of Staff (as well as being undiscovered top-notch diarist). That's got to count for something. Protection from radiation at least. Have to have someone around to keep Josh in line. Cuz Leo would bail out after 5 minutes. 

Where the hell is Josh? Must ask him if I am part of select few who will be taken to bomb shelter. 

Damn. Not in his office. Maybe he's bugging Sam. 

****

10:12 pm

Went to Sam's office. He's not there. Toby's in and since he's been yelling at people lately for no apparent reason (more than usual that is) I'm just going to keep looking elsewhere. 

Though I should remind myself to warn him about the satellite tomorrow. Or maybe I'll just send him a note. Less painful. Margaret is still wary of him after the whole muffin mocking incident. At least I'm not bad, right? 

Maybe Josh's talking to CJ. 

****

10:15 pm

Double damn. Not there either. Nobody's here. Maybe I should leave. 

But then Josh will be looking for me, and he'll need something and he won't be able to find it and I will get home and find 10 messages on my machine and/or a very angry Candi screaming "CALL YOUR FRIGGIN' BOSS NOW!"

Yeah. I should just stay till he gets back from wherever. 

****

10:20 pm

Rearranged my paper clips. Now in color coded order. Still no sign of Josh.

****

10:23 pm

Lost a game of solitaire. This sucks. 

****

10:25 pm

Won a game of solitaire. This doesn't suck as much but it still is pretty unbearable.

****

10:26 pm

Had epiphany! Will look for Josh out his office window. 

****

10:27 pm

Have looked out Josh's window and have not seen Josh. In fact, cannot see much of anything at all as is very very dark out. Think I will sit down. 

Josh has a very comfortable chair. I want a chair like this. It's big and soft and has wheels and smells like Josh. Oooooh.

Stop it Donnatella! This is work. Must have work like, professional thoughts. 

Can't come up with any. Hmmmm chair can spin.

Wheeeeeeeeeeeee

"Donna?"

GAAAAAAAAAAH! How did he get back without me noticing? Damn damn damn, if only he would stop moving erratically up and down I would be able to articulate a witty reply. Instead pull a gaping fish mouth on him. Way to go, me.

"Were you just _spinning_ in my chair just now?"

"Where did you go?"

"Huh? Iwalked CJ out. Why the hell were you spinning in my chair?"

Walked CJ out? Oh, we are soooo talking about that one later. 

"I was looking out the window for you."

"It's pitch black out."

"Yeah."

"And you thought you could see me out the window?"

"I have good night vision."

"So you were looking out the window for me and then decided to play teacups with my chair?"

"Teacups?"

"With my chair."

"You have to learn how to have more fun, Joshua."

"Cuz it's the end of the world right?" Big Lyman grin as he reclaims his chair. He's mocking me now. Bastard. If only he didn't look so good doing it. 

"It's all fun and games until a big hunk of metal smashes your car into bits upon re-entry."

"Donna-"

"And oh boy, we'll see who's laughing then."

"Donna-"

"Me. Laughing. At you. And then maybe, you won't be so quick to scoff at others. A little lesson for Josh Lyman courtesy of Fate."

"Fate's going to give me a lesson?"

"Yessirreebob."

"Okay, Donna? Let's not use phrases like yessirreebob' unless like, we have to shuck corn in the barn with our half-cousins okay?"

"That's why Fate is going to give you a lesson."

"Because of corn?"

"No, because you mock people."

"But it's the only thing I'm good at."

"Besides whining."

"_I_ do _not_ whine."

"Josh? What are you doing right now?"

"Wondering why you still haven't given me a straight answer about my chair."

"No, you're whining."

"Coulda fooled me." 

"Apparently, just did."

"Are you going to tell me why you were spinning in my chair or do I need to get the special equipment?" Oh god, here we go again.

"Josh, you don't have any special equipment."

"I have various types of special equipment."

"Where?"

"Here. Uhin my desk."

"Josh, first of all, don't you think I would know every inch of this office like the back of my hand? And secondly, don't you think it's unwise to keep that kind of thing at work?"

"You never know when you might need it."

"Well, aren't you the Boy Scout."

He salutes. Goddamn, he can be cute when he wants to be. He begins to shuffle his papers around and asks me about where the Firworth file is. After some very business like rearranging and scheduling, he sits back in his chair and sighs. He looks really tired. In fact, all this week he's looked tired. So has Toby. And Leo. And CJ looked like she was going to throw up all day. 

"You should go home and get some sleep." He has a delicate system. He likes to think that he's still a frat boy and can stay up all night for many days in a row. He can be quite stupid sometimes. Still love him though. Hence the solicitious reminder.

"Nah. Got some work to do for tomorrow." Weak smile. The Lyman I-grin-and-bear-it-cuz-I-can-handle-anything-I-am-*that*-good weak smile. 

"And you should do it tomorrow and go home and rest now."

"Yes, Mama."

"I mean it, Josh."

"Yeah." As I'm at the door, he adds, "Donna? About the thing? It's really a routine. Every ten days there's some satellite or whatever crashing to Earth that one government or another sent up there. Don't sweat it, okay?"

"Every ten days huh?"

"Yep. And approximately 17,000 since we began sending things up there."

"Approximately."

"Yeah."

"And no one, like, thinks this is a serious problem that we can't seem to keep these things up there in space where they belong?"

"Uhno. But they're working on it."

"Meanwhile, I could be pulverized by a two ton chunk of satellite."

"We get almost that exact same memo all the time. It's like a running gag."

"And like a running gag, it is not funny."

"You'll live to see another day, Donnatella."

"Yep."

"Kay. I justthought you should know."

"Yeah, though like telling me this hours ago would have killed you?"

"It was cute." What did he just say???

"What?"

"Cute, your whole, the sky is falling routine all day."

"Well, I just live for your amusement, Josh. Tomorrow, my talent will be twirling batons."

"Oooh, that's nice. Will you wear the short little sequined skirt that matches them?"

"No, because you called me Chicken Little."

"I did not call you Chicken Little."

"You implied it."

"What about the top?"

"No."

"Please?"

"Josh, I'm going home now."

"Fine. See you tomorrow then."

"If you haven't been crushed by a falling satellite."

"Don-naaaaa.!"

"Bye, Josh." I am gone. Always nice to get the last word. Always. 

****

11:59 pm

Bantering was nice today. Felt good after a long day of anxiety. Yet something is still bugging me. Generally, when I get like that there are witty replies and guffaws and humiliation office wide at the instigation of the senior staff. Today- nothing. It was really weird. And everyone still looks tired. I'd say there was something in the water then I'm pretty sure I would be affected. And Margaret. And Ginger and Bonnie. All of whom were the only normal people I've talked to today. 

DAMN! Forgot to ask him about the whole CJ —walking-out thingy. Definitely tomorrow. 

I'm not worried. Why you ask? Because he knows I like him and I know that he likes me and even though we haven't said anything about it since the Sculpture Garden epiphany, as I like to call it, it's out there. I haven't gone on a date since. And neither has he. 

Our banter is more flirty. Can we all say, "special equipment"?

We definitely have a thing. Never verbally acknowledged but it's there and we know it. It's a very warm-fuzzy thought. 

It means that one of these days he's going to break down and take me to Hawaii. I'm thinking, the honeymoon. But I'll settle for a business trip. Traveling at the government's expense has never hurt anybody.

I just wish that I didn't have this feeling like the sky was going to cave in- and I'm not talking about the stupid satellite anymore. It's like a foreboding. A really ominous foreboding that gothic heroines get before their house burns down or the family ghost appears in the attic. 

I hope Josh gets some sleep tonight cuz tomorrow I think we ought to outdo ourselves on the verbal sparring. Lighten the mood. Get the juices flowing. Wake people up.

It's for the country's own good. 

God Bless America. 


	2. 

Author's Note: Okay guys- part 2: Here's what you'll need to know so no confusion: I'm giving Joey the rest of the week and 

Author's Note: Okay guys- part 2: Here's what you'll need to know so no confusion: I'm giving Joey the rest of the week and the weekend to get her polling data, get Kenny back from vacation and in Washington for the 1:00 am meeting (which would be the next Sun- or I guess real early Mon) from "18th and Potomac." Spoilers for that ep, by the way

****

Friday, April 14th, 1:48 pm _Number of times had excellent banter with Josh 0. Number of times had okay banter with Josh 0. Number of times tried to have any kind of banter with Josh but was unsuccessful 124._

There must be something in the water at the White House. 

I'm serious. And this is so not a Margaret muffin like paranoia. It's palpable. CJ, Sam, Toby, Leo, Josh -all of them look like they've been hit by a bus. Several times. At high speeds. 

There is a cloud of doom over the White House. I know it. 

Then of course yesterday I was feeling like it was going to be a pretty swell end of the week so it might not be a wise thing to take my premonitions to heart. 

I think it might be the tobacco thing. Josh had me send the reports from the counsels' offices on the lawsuit to Leo so I guess he really wants to have this fight. And he should. I peeked at the numbers and quite frankly, if he doesn't try to help them get the appropriate amount of funding, I might just have to bitch-slap him around a bit.

You know, more than usual.

And Joey Lucas was in town. Yep. Apparently some poll having to do with beets or something. Bonnie really wasn't sure the exact nature of the meeting (an eavesdropper can only do so much) but she's certain that Josh saw Joey at the airport last Thursday and that there was some discussion of agriculture. 

He never told me. Bastard.

How dare he not tell me that he's skulking off to a rendezvous with Joey friggin' Lucas leaving me worried sick that a satellite would collide with Earth and cause both major property damage and loss of life?? How???

And what the hell is going on with beets that should be of such great importance that a) the Deputy Chief of Staff has to deal with the crisis personally, and b) that a poll be executed, and for that matter c) that Joey Lucas be called in to help? 

I get the distinct feeling that I'm out of the loop. 

I should do something about that. I'm the Deputy-Deputy Chief of Staff goddammit and if there's a problem with this nation's beets, I want to know!

"Josh!"

No reply. This is what I have to deal with now, folks. 

"JOSH!"

"Okay- not deaf." It's been simple sentences and one word answers all morning. And he's only half paying attention to that report he's leafing through. Oh well, Lyman, saddle up for an argument.

"But guess who is?"

"Who is what?"

"Deaf."

"Could be me after that greeting."

"JOSH!"

"I was wrong."

"Joey Lucas." I say this in my most severe tone. I'm hoping he'll pick up on it.

"You know what? You're right."

"Yep. You know what else?"

"I couldn't possibly care less"

"She apparently cares a lot about beets."

"What?" He perks up. Honestly. The first time in the past few days I've actually seen him lift his droopy eyelids. "What did you say?"

"Beets." Josh, you are going down. "I said she cares a lot about beets."

"And you would know this how?"

"Because if she didn't, she wouldn't fly all the way to Washington, now, would she?"

"She flew to Washington because she cares a lot about beets."

"Yes. And she's gathering her rosebuds."

"What did we say about that phrase?"

"Yeah and I thought that you kept me informed about your appointments! Is there a problem with beets? You can tell me."

"Donna-"

"Really. I just want to know they're still safe to eat. They are still safe to eat, right?"

"Don-naaaaaa-"

"Or was there some other reason you met her at the airport?" Oooh, genuine Lyman shock written all over his face. "Are **you** gathering rosebuds now?"

"How do you know? How do you know that I met Joey Lucas at the airport?" He seems very concerned now. He's speaking in a very urgent tone and quite frankly, he's scaring me. 

"I cannot divulge my sources," I quip. Keep it light. Oh my, what have I gotten myself into. 

"You mean someone else, other than you, knows I met her"

"Yeah. So what? It's just beets."

"Yeah. Just beets. Who told you?"

"Nope. Still not telling."

"Donnatella Moss, who told you?" He practically screamed at me. I'm torn between hurt and anger. I can barely speak. Why the hell is this so important? And why is he interrogating _me_ more than I'm interrogating _him_?

"Bonnie," I whisper.

"Okay. Okay." He sits down and holds his head in his hands. Looking up, he glances at my face and looks down again.

I shouldn't be in his office anymore. Not only have I given away an identity in the gossip network but I have a feeling I just got Bonnie into big trouble. I should leave now.

"Donna."

Damn! Caught at the doorframe. Should I turn around? Settle for half turn.

"Yes, Josh?"

"Beets are still safe to eat."

"Okay."

"Wouldn't want you freaking out everyone in the West Wing with horror stories about mutated crops." He's trying to lighten the mood. It's not working. 

"Okay."

"Donna? You didn't do anything wrong. Bonnie didn't either. It's just"

"Just what?"

"Not something we wanted to publicize."

"Yeah." Turn and go now, away from that bastard and his gathering of other people's rose

"And there was no rosebud gathering from either party!"

Suddenly a little smile appears on my face. Wonder where that came from.

****

6:12 pm

Talked to Bonnie. Apparently, Josh and Toby had a talk today and made a big show out of closing the office door. Ginger got worried that they had found out that she listens in but Bonnie caught Josh looking at her before he made his dramatic entrance into Toby's office and realized that the gesture was intended for her. 

I had to tell her. She seemed sympathetic. She only has to deal with Sam who is very easy to manipulate and con. He's also not good at confrontations. 

Josh, while being easy to manipulate and con, is **very** good at confrontations. Relishes them, even. Hence my being yelled at. 

Though she raised a good point: he didn't really answer my question. Why the hell was he meeting Joey Lucas at the airport and what does it have to do with beets? 

Since we both really couldn't come up with anything, I told her not to tell anybody else and left it at that.

Josh still is barely speaking to me. Where oh where did the banter go? 

****

9:54 pm

Okay, so again time proves that the best laid plans go awry. (Damn- and right after I had sworn off cliches!) 

I had planned to push the par excellence with the banter quotient today. 

Josh apparently did not. 

In fact, he had absolutely no interest in conversation of any form. A lot of grunting replies. And then of course there was the yelling that once. 

And if that weren't bad enough, a couple of times I caught him staring into space, looking at nothing, well, nothing that was visible, but like a small invisible thing in the corner that he was incredibly unhappy about. Like he's seeing visions of his dead hamster that he loved as a boy or something comparatively tragic.

This worries me. This worries me a lot. 

I can't imagine why me, an attractive, single gal, fun-loving, with a great personality, should sit and home on a Friday night, completely alone, eating Ben and Jerry's and worrying about her boss. 

I should call him. 

That would probably not be wise. 

But I could make sure he was all right and not breaking windows or doors or some other kind of glass thing. 

There's a line that we walk. It's a very fine line between the personal and the professional. Sure, sometimes it gets blurred - like after the shooting. I took him home. Made the rules. Cooked his meals. Cleaned his apartment. Made sure he took his medicine. 

Not exactly professional behavior. 

Then there's the banter- especially of late. The flirting, the innuendo we walk the line. 

The fact that both of us know that we like each other should in no way stop us from doing our respective jobs. 

We have drawn the line. It's annoying as hell but it's there. 

Calling him would definitely be crossing the border. He's a big boy, he can take care of himself. 

No, he can't. He's actually really pathetic that way. Unfortunately, it only makes him more loveable.

It's technically the weekend. I am off duty. No more monitoring of, playing nursymaid for, or supervising of Joshua Lyman. 

Doesn't mean I can't worry.

AAAAARGH! Will not under any circumstances spend weekend in anxious speculation about Josh.

Now. Where's that other pint of Chunky Monkey?

****

Sunday, April 15th, 10:34 pm _Number of times have speculated upon Josh's wellbeing 52 (not good but better than yesterday's 86). Number of times have scolded self for unnecessary worry 52. Number of times have dialed his number to check up on his wellbeing 3 (but the last one doesn't count since only got through 6 digits). Number of times hung up in a panic 2 (very restrained)._

Very disappointed with lack of Mulder on the X Files. Have resorted to history book in last desperate attempt to make self wise and enliven now non-existent banter with Josh. 

****

10:35 pm

Cannot deal with facts and numbers tonight. Besides, am up to the Civil War and is very depressing. There must be something else around here to improve my mind. 

****

10:40 pm

Decided to clean the living room and found what appears to be one of Chad's books. Chad apparently is much younger than he looks- he's only a junior undergrad at UMBC majoring in English, of all things. I had not noticed that he had a mastery for speech. In fact, he barely showed competence. 

But then, most of the time he's sucking face with Candi and doesn't come up for air much.

Middlemarch by George Eliot. Can't be that bad. Will make me erudite, studious, and literary. I can then make insightful comments in my diary and be cited in the foreword of later editions. 

****

10:54 pm

Is really bad. I realize why it was chucked underneath the sofa. Painful. Impossible to begin, much less continue. Maybe will just skip to the end.

****

10:56 pm

Is really beautiful ending. Almost tempted to go back through and read the whole thing. Okay, not really. But still is beautiful ending. Must write it down:

_"for the growing good of the world is partly dependant on unhistoric acts; and that things are not so ill with you and me as they might have been, is half owing to the number who lived faithfully a hidden life, and rest in unvisited tombs." _

I like that. I should tell Josh that. He has looked so worn that he probably needs a reminder that there's good in the world. We all do sometimes. 

I feel much better. Think I will go to bed early so I can be bright and witty and cheerful tomorrow. It'll be a better week. No more dire forebodings.

I hope. 

****

Monday, April 16th, 2:34 pm _Number of times have recited book's ending to self to help memorization 203. Number of times have said it right without looking 0. Number of times have told Josh 0. Actual sentences spoken by Josh 4. Moral meter very low._

I have been trying not to notice everyone's gloomy countenance today by repeating the last lines of Middlemarch to myself. Haven't gotten it right yet. Josh has big circles under his eyes and has barely been in his office all day. I've said all of two words to him at most. Like "Hello." And "Here" when handing him something he asked for. 

It can't get any worse. Our banter is permanently on hiatus. Ugh ugh ugh. 

At least I have all this tobacco stuff to keep me busy. Josh is antsy waiting for Leo to get back to him about if he should start greasing the wheels and stepping on people's toes to get the funding for the litigators. He had an appointment with some of the subcommittee members; maybe he's on his way back now.

I should just check, you know, do my assistant duty, and watch out his window.

****

2:37 pm

No such luck. I wonder if he's.GAAAAAH!

****

2:38 pm.

Was Ginger. Told her Josh wasn't in but apparently that doesn't matter. Toby wants to see me. Me. 

Weird huh? I mean, there is practically nothing that we could talk about. We have nothing in common.

That and the tiny insignificant fact that he scares the bejesus out of me. 

We don't talk. In fact, I can't remember a time when me and Toby sat down and had a little tete-a-tete. That's cuz there wasn't any. He probably thinks I'm insane and I think that it is entirely probable that I would say something wrong and he would kill me so we generally avoid one another. 

So why would he want to see me?

****

2:40 pm

Oh. My. God. Maybe it's about the Joey Lucas thing. I'm going to get Bonnie fired. I knew I shouldn't have told Josh, I knew it!

Toby's calling me in to interrogate me and intimidate me and threaten me and Bonnie will be thrown out on the street for leaking to the assistants that Josh and Joey had a private beet conference. 

I wonder if I have time to book a flight to Australia. It should be very nice there this time of year. And completely Toby-free.

Maybe I'll just stay here in the comparative safety of Josh's office feigning work. Yes! That's it! I have way too much work to do. That and I'm a big coward. 

Hey- it works for Josh.

****

2:45 pm

Ginger came back. Apparently what she had meant when she said that Toby wanted to see me was that Toby wanted to see me NOW and I should get my butt over there stat before he starts lobbing people's heads off with his rubber balls.

"He's been temperamental lately," she explains.

Uh-huh. I just raise an eyebrow.

"More than usual," she clarifies. 

Straightening my red top and flicking my hair behind my shoulders, I follow her out of the office. Have inner strength. Elegant poise. Thoughtful reserve. 

And really really sweaty hands.

****

3:04 pm 

Toby told me. The president has MS. That keeps repeating over and over and over in my head. 

There's no time to be shocked, he said. Only one on the assistant level who knows, he said. Not Bonnie, not Ginger, not Margaret, not Mrs. Landingham, he said. 

Just me. Toby told just me. 

I assume everyone else knows. That that's why everyone has been so despondent and tired. Not the water. The best kept state secret is about to go public. 

The sky is crashing down. 

Oddly enough, I think, "Who's Chicken Little now, Joshua?"

That wouldn't be a tactful thing to say. Not now, when he needs my help. There are a lot of things to get done and not enough hours to do them in. He's been shouldering this all by himself- so typical, just like him to handle emotionally jarring situations like this, by bottling every single emotion up until he bursts- and it's taking its toll.

I need to help him. I can't bear to see him like this. I can't bear to see any of them like this. 

I was surprisingly calm when I talked to Toby. And when I left his office. I guess all that talk about inner poise finally worked.

Then I decided I'd stop in the ladies room for a second. And I just stood in front of the sinks shaking. I could see myself shaking in the mirror. My hands weren't steady. I splashed some water on my face and when I stared back into my reflection all I saw was fear. 

It looks like I may not have politics to help me stay in close proximity to Josh very much longer. 

No. NO. No no no. We faced down worse demons, Joshua Lyman and we will face down this one. Side by side, hand in hand, deputy and deputy-deputy will take the nation by storm. Cuz he's the dude and I'm the girl he thinks he likes. Cuz he went down in history as the Deputy Chief of Staff who told a senator to take his legislative agenda and shove it up his ass and I was the one who handed him the phone. Cuz he almost got killed and I nursed him through it and we're both still here.

Josh isn't back yet. I can't sit here and do nothing. 

I gotta find Toby.

He's in his office. Good. I enter and shut the door. Sorry gals, no listening to this. 

"Uh, Toby?"

"Donna."

"Josh, um, isn't back yet from the thing, but I was wondering"

"Hmmm?"

"Is there is there anything **I** can doto help, that is?"

He looks up from his laptop and typing is suspended for a few brief moments. He's giving me an odd look. If it was anybody else other than Toby, I would have said it was respectful. Like admiration or otherwise. "Uh- yeah. There's a room, in the basement, where we've been having meetings. You could go down there and see what needs helping."

"Okay."

"There's a password: Sagittarius."

"Sagittarius? Why Sagittarius? Is it the President's sign or something?"

He gives me a look like he couldn't possibly care less or fathom how I could fixate on such a meaningless detail in such a serious matter. Big heavy Toby sigh. "Just tell the guards and they'll let you in."

"Yeah, okay." Big awkward pause. "I'll just go now." Rapid scuttle, rapid scuttle!! Go, go, GO!

"Okay," he mumbles, his words barely audible over the clickety-clack of his typing. 

At least I emerge with my dignity and my life. Not to mention Bonnie's job being free from harm. For the meantime anyway. 

Now, to find that room.

****

8:37 pm

I always wanted to be a secret agent. James Bond lives a very glamorous lifestyle and I thought it would be cool to do covert operations, sneak around in the dark of night and use code words to communicate with other agents. 

If the past couple hours are any indication of what that's like, I think that Ian Fleming has got a lot of explaining to do. 

I have been so on edge. Conscious of every single move I make, every word I say. I have a rotten poker face. I could never keep a secret. And now, I'm being trusted with the biggest one in recent political history and quite frankly, I think that it sucks.

Ignorance is bliss. What else is there to say?

I managed to cram two couches into the elevator with the help of my friend Curtis. He used to fix furniture and now he sells it second hand. I probably could have found some other couches somewhere- the White House is a pretty big place- but I'm throwing him some work. 

The couches are really ugly. One is upholstered in a hideous shade of pea soup green that looks suspiciously like vomit and the other is bright orange with big red flowers on it. 

But hey, it's not like I'm furnishing the Mural Room or anything so it's okay. It's just a grungy room next door to Sagittarius headquarters- that's what I've taken to calling it anyhow. "The secret planning room in the basement" just sounds so contrived. 

After adding some blankets and a coffee maker with coffee paraphernalia, I returned upstairs to help Josh get his papers in order for the next day's tobacco meetings.

I slipped into his office and he didn't look up. For once, I didn't mind. I just quietly collated the stack of files I brought in with me until he realized my existence. He seemed kinda sorry when I mentioned how we had barely spoken all day. I felt like my heart would break in two when I saw how god-awful and tired he looked. 

And then, when he started that bullshit about the Blue Ribbon Committee I thought I would laugh. It was soooo Josh, to lie effortlessly, with complete skill and tact while a crisis was going on. I permitted myself a smile. 

I tried to tell him about my lack of skills at maintaining a poker face. I can't hide anything from anybody- my face is an open book. And I certainly can't hide anything from Josh. So I simply stopped the auto-gibberish and said it all in one word:

"Sagittarius."

Josh looked like he was going to fall off his chair. Told him about the blankets and the couches. He asked me if I was okay. 

Truth is, I'm not. None of us are. Not now. But we will be. We will be. "When the hurly-burly's done, when the battle's lost and won" 

We'll be just fine.

So now, I'm sitting in the Sagittarius resting room, sipping my coffee and hoping that whatever they're doing now, that they're finding the answers. I know these people. They deserve better than this. 

But if anybody can face this down, it's us. I'm not being pompous or cocky, that's the way it is. They're the best. But this might just be the worst.

"Donna?"

"Hi, Josh."

"Nice little set-up you got here."

"I thought you guys could use it. Toby told me that you'd be here pretty much 24-7 and between everything else that has to get done."

"That is one _ugly_ looking couch."

"Yeah."

"Where did it come from? And please, don't tell me it that a former president sat on that thing cuz I might just lose faith in politics all together."

"They're from my friend Curtis. You now owe him $75."

"For that?"

"For both of them."

"This by any chance, wouldn't be the same Curtis who stole my chair for a week would it?"

" Give him a hand, the man has unexpected depth."

"He has really bad taste in upholstery."

"Yeah." 

Josh plops down next to me on the orange couch. He eyes my cup.

"No, Josh."

"What?"

"You may not have some. I brought down the coffee maker for the express purpose that you may make yourself your own cup and not beg or steal from me."

"I didn't even ask"

"You were thinking it."

"You can read my mind now?"  
"Maybe."

"What am I thinking right now?"

"That you have the most wonderful assistant in the world."

He smiles and nods. Ooooh. Warm fuzzy, warm fuzzy

".and you're taking her to Hawaii?"

"Nope."

".and you're buying her a DVD player?"

"Nyet."

"and you're eternally grateful?"

"Bingo. Can you read palms too?"

"Yes, Madame Donnatella, she knows all, she sees all, give me your hand and I will tell you your future." I was always good at drama.

Smiling, Josh gives me his hand. Ooooooooh. He has really nice hands. And he's really close to me. There should be a line drawn in here somewhere but since I'm too busy affecting accents and fortune telling, the closeness will just have to continue.

"You are going to take down Big Tobacco."

"How did you know?"

"Because you haven't been this perky for a week. Leo greenlighted it?"

"Yeah. We're going all the way."

"Shouldn't we hold off though? Keep the friends we have, instead of making more enemies? The president's"

"Going to show that he's not backing down. That no matter what else, the administration cares about the people of this country and doesn't want to see the cancer rate increase along with the fat cats' wallets!"

"Down, boy. So you're going after them?"

"Oh yeah. CJ's going to add some of my spicy comments into her briefing tomorrow."

"Your spicy comments? Is that like your secret plan to fight inflation?"

"Don-NA." He falls silent all of a sudden. Then he quietly says, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

"Tell me what? About this?" I gesture to the Sagittarius headquarters next door. "You were under no obligation to tell me You were right not to"

"No. I should have told you. Not Toby."

"He was suprisingly nice about it."

Shaking his head, he sighs. "Yeah. Toby has been it's getting to him. He was the first of us to know and he's going nuts."

"I think we're collectively going nuts."

"Not you. You have been calm. Collected. Efficient."

"And does not all of this merit at least a couple of skis?"

"Donna." He's serious now. He's using the voice and the puppy dog face and help me, help me, help me, I think we're going to have a moment here. "I don't know how you do it."

"I didn't do anything, Josh. All I did was haul a couple of couches out of an elevator. And the guard helped me do that."

He sighs again. My concern kicks in. "You should get some sleep."

"I have a meeting with the president at nine." He glances at his watch. "Only ten more minutes."

"It's two minutes till, Josh. Your watch sucks."

"Yeah. I should go."

"Yeah. I'll be here. When you get done."

"Okay. Donna?"

"Yes, Josh?"

"Thank you, for everything."

"You're welcome."

He walks out, leaving me alone on the ugly couch once more. 

I wish I really was a fortune teller. I wish I could look into the future and see things turn out right and give him some honest-to-goodness assurances that the sky will remain intact.

I hope he gets some good news at the meeting. I think I've had all the bad news I can take. 

TBC..


	3. Funeral Flowers and Beary Tasty Cookies

10:34 pm ****

10:34 pm

Fate has a really really sick sense of humor. I mean, it seems every time I manage to raise my spirits even just a little bit, another chunk of the sky ends up careening at my head.

Mrs. Landingham is dead. 

I've been fighting a superstitious desire to look under my carpet to see if there's flames underneath- cuz this sure feels a lot like hell. 

Josh got to tell me the news. I still sat nursing my coffee and my psyche in the Sagittarius rest room when he came back. It was only quarter after nine. 

"Short meeting?" I asked, completely oblivious.

"Yeah. There's another issue we have to deal with tonight," he sighed and dragged his hand through his hair. It only makes him look more disheveled, but at that point, we all looked the worse for wear. In Josh's case, he looked like he had aged 30 years in the past 15 minutes. 

He sat down next to me and quietly said, "There's been an accident."

"An accident?" I dumbly repeated. The only thing I could think of was "Omigod, the President. Is he okay? Is he alright? What happened?"

"Donna, it's not-"

"Is he still alive? Did they take him to the hospital?"

"Donna, no, Donna," he tried to stop the gibberish, but failed as usual. Instead, he took the coffee cup from my shaking hands. "Donna. The president's **fine**," he said firmly.

I remember the huge sigh of relief I gave. "Oh, thank goodness. He's alright?"

"Yeah. Look, Donna- it's Mrs. Landingham."

"What about her?" See? Completely. Oblivious. And was better for it. 

"She was in an accident- a drunk driver, came out of nowhere"

"Oh. Oh no. Did she break anything?"

Josh gave me a look of sad pity. I knew that look. It's the same look that had been on everyone's faces when I walked into GW that fateful night and they had told me Josh had been shot. 

"She's dead, Donna."

I don't remember getting up from the couch. My legs must have done that all on their own, because my brain sure as hell wasn't cognitive of movement. I just stood in front of Mr. Coffee, with my hand over my mouth to keep in sobs and my back to Josh. I couldn't let him see me- I had to be strong for him. I felt a hand on my shoulder. 

Josh took my trembling hands and held them in his. If I hadn't been so shocked, so angry, so grief-stricken at the moment, I probably would have blushed from head to toe. 

He just kept whispering "it's going to be alright." Over and over. And I cried on his shoulder. But only for a little while. There's a line, remember? He told me to go home. At that point, if he had wanted me to jump off a bridge, I couldn't refuse him. 

But even now, I remember the warmth of his hands on mine, the gentle touch on my back trying to rub the sobs away, his whispers in my hair, and the arc of his shoulder. I shouldn't be reminiscing about Josh right now. But instead of mourning Mrs. Landingham, all I can think of is him. How he comforted me when I was supposed to comfort him. 

She gave me a cookie once. After the shooting. I always considered it a pity gesture. She had always known that I liked Josh. She could sense it. And all this time, I had thought that she had given me that cookie- and it was a damn good cookie- because I needed comfort. But, after the last few hours, I think she gave it to me for a completely different reason. 

Because I comforted Josh. Because I stood by him and helped him through one of the biggest crises of his life. And not just because I was in love with him, but because I was his assistant. 

Like Mrs. Landingham was to the president. She was more than a secretary. And after today, I know that that sentiment counts for me too. 

I'm going to miss her. I've decided that I'm going to organize something for her family from the secretaries and assistants of the West Wing. Because we owe it to her. She was the best of all of us. I bet the President never had to comfort her- she had a will of iron. Resilient, full of wit, and a kick ass cook. 

I can only hope I turn out as well. 

****

Tuesday, April 17th, 11:47 am _Number of headaches 1 (but is really big- must equal at least 100 little ones) Number of Advil taken 4. Percentage of pain lessened 0. Number of smiles seen in the office 0._

I had thought that sleep would help the dull throbbing pain in my head that started around 9 oclock last night. I was wrong. If anything, it's gotten worse. 

They're telling the staff now. Bonnie. Ginger. Margaret. Carol. They know. They know about Mrs. Landingham and they know about the President. Each one of them came to my desk at one point this morning to ask me if I had heard the news. I told them yes. They think Josh told me all about it early this morning. I don't have the nerve to say otherwise. 

I mentioned the gift thing for Mrs. Landingham. We thought flowers might be nice. So, I'm collecting donations and I'm gonna call later. That is, if the rest of the sky doesn't come crashing down. 

At one point, I would have thought that was a witty remark. Now, am completely terrified that it's true. Don't these things come in threes? I mean, one: the President has MS. Two: Mrs. Landingham is dead. Three could conceivably be me getting hit with a falling satellite. 

Sense of impending doom is doing nothing for my complexion. 

Any and all of Josh's perkiness over creaming Big Tobacco got completely smushed overnight. Apparently, with this Haiti embassy crisis thingy goin' on, CJ's going to be tied up in briefings all day. First she's getting them, then she's giving them. So much for the spicy comments. Won't make the front page of the Times today. 

****

11:50 am

Was Carol with the last of the contributions. She asked me if I have any idea of what I'm going to get. Honestly didn't know, but made some perfectly believable lie that I did and it was going to be beautiful. 

Think I should go to a florist's on my lunch break. Maybe they have a showroom. Point. Pay. Done. 

****

1:03 pm

Is sooooo not easy to get funeral flowers. Florists know what they're doing. They've done funerals before. In fact, they do them so much that they have a big ass book, thicker than a phone book, filled with arrangements everywhere from $30 to $300. 

Needless to say, it was no picnic. There were crosses (too religious), "bleeding hearts" (too freaky- never knew flowers could look gory), wreaths (too depressing), baskets (too inappropriate), and finally vases. Now, vases are nice. Expensive as hell. But perfect. So, I ended up spending a little over the contribution, but hey- it's on my credit card. I won't have to worry about it for at least a week. And think of all those frequent flyer miles.

At the register, I saw the neatest thing. The florist apparently does food baskets too. One of their specialties is these decorated cookies. They were so cute- little bears in different outfits, outlined on a sugar cookie in colorful icing. I munched on a doctor bear on the drive back. 

Did I mention that I got Josh a little something too? Uh-huh. In fact, I think I'll go give it to him now.

"Josh?" He's hunkered over papers, only has one of his lights turned on, and still showing the signs of not sleeping. Disheveled. In need of mothering. Kinda cute. 

"Yeah."

"Did you eat lunch?" 

"Wha- yeah, yeah, I picked up a sandwich at the mess. Why?"

"I got something for you." I hold up a bag. He doesn't move. I shake the bag, 

He looks up. "What's that?"

"I got something for you."

He sits back in his chair and stretches his arms, until they rest clasped behind his head. "You got me what?"

"Open it and see for yourself." I toss the bag onto the desk. 

With a raised eyebrow and a slight grin, he lifts up a corner of the bag and peers in. Geez, he can be childish! And he pulls out my surprise: two cookies. One bear dressed in red with blond hair (can you guess who that is?- I'll give you a hint- even though the florist lady couldn't capture it through sugar, the bear has alabaster skin) and another in a business suit- conspicuously with no tie (three more guesses- and another hint- both are present in this room now).

"You got me cookies?"

"Uh-huh."

"Bear cookies."

"Aren't they adorable?"

"They're all dressed up." He's flipping them over in his hands with a funny expression on his face. Like he's not sure what to make of them. 

"Yeah."

"Why are they all dressed up?"

"Would you prefer to eat naked bears?"

"I'm just saying I don't see the advantage of eating a dressed versus a non dressed bear."

"Do you recognize them?" 

"Should I? Have I recently seen a large bear in a business suit skulking around the West Wing?" 

"The bear isn't wearing a tie."

"What are you, the forest fashion police? Give the poor bear a break, he probably left it in his cave."

"Someone else doesn't wear ties," I say in a sing song voice.

"You're saying this is me?" I nod. Josh is amazed. He's looking at the cookie in his right hand with a weird intensity. "And who is this?" he asks, mockingly, holding up the cookie in his left hand. 

"Me." Must be beet red right now. Can feel it. Isn't it hot in here? Shouldn't we open a window- like right now? So I can climb out and escape? This was a bad idea, this was a really bad idea.

"You got me a cookie of you?"

"Yeah."

"Didn't you fear the significance of me biting your head off?" he asks playfully, gesturing with my little bear. 

"I was being nice. They're cute." I'm getting defensive. I guess he can tell cuz his smile diminishes a few watts. 

"And you found these where?"

"Flowers by Gina on St. Paul street."

"What were you doing there?" he asks, genuinely puzzled.

"The assistant staff got an arrangement for Mrs. Landingham."

"Oh. I should do something. Can I get in on this?"

"The flowers are paid for, Josh."

"I could add it on to your salary."

"You could just give me a raise."

"Yeah, but then I wouldn't be expressing my sympathy for Mrs. Landingham."

"She was an assistant. She knew what it was like, the crappy salary. I say, poetic justice." I look at Josh and realize the fooling isn't working. "But you're right. You can sign the sympathy card," I concede.

"Do you have it?"

"No, Margaret was in charge of picking one up."

"Was that a necessarily wise thing to do?"

"Margaret happens to be very good at her job!"

" Margaret's also a few fries short of a happy meal."

Fed up now. Left office. Not like there isn't a hundred things to get done besides making sure Josh stays stable. Sit down on whirly chair too hard and get pushed away from desk. 

"DONNA!" Argh. Can't he ever learn not to shout? I pull my chair back up to my desk and finish typing the memo I started before lunch. 

"DONNA!" I refuse to get up. Nope. No sirree. Here I am, trying to make sure Josh gets some kind of food into his system and offer some degree of normalcy to help him get through what is a very stressful period right now, and he begins mocking my friends. I will not be moved. 

My phone rings. "Josh Lyman's office." 

"Donna, I'd just like you to know that I'm eating you now, [crunch crunch crunch] and you're very tasty."

"Your welcome." And I slam the phone down hard. And goddammit, I'm blushing again! Something is seriously wrong with me. 

4:43 pm

Sam came by to talk to Josh. Apparently, Josh showed him the cookies cuz when Sam came out he started asking me about them.

"You got Josh cookies?"

"Yes."

"That look like you and him?"

"Yes."

"Bonnie never does that for me."

"Uh-huh."

"He's eaten most of you, you know. There's nothing but your little bear head left."

"He's eaten all of me but my head?"

"You didn't know?"

"That he was saving part of me for later? No, Sam, I was not informed as such."

"Oh. Um, Donna?"

"Yes, Sam?"

"Do you think you could give the number of that florist to Bonnie?"

"No, Sam."

"But it might serve as a little hint"

"She's not getting you cookies, Sam."

"How do you know? Maybe she's always wanted to get me cookies, but never knew where to get them"

"I highly doubt it, Sam."

"Worth a shot." And he went off in search of caffeine.

Whatever. Sam is very weird. Though not as weird as Josh. Definitely not as weird as Josh. Who not only has eaten the majority of my facsimile, but took the opportunity of my conversation with Sam to sneak out of his office and leave me a little surprise.

HELP ME. I'M A CRIPPLE. Written on a small scrap of paper in a suspiciously familiar handwriting. Next to a small bear cookie, wearing a suit and no tie, that was missing one leg. Completely bitten off. And now equipped with a crutch fashioned out of rubber bands and number two pencils. 

This is the work of a demented man. Namely, Josh. There could be no other culprit. Really, can you see Toby doing this? Or Leo for that matter? 

Margaret hasn't even begun to foray into this kind of mania. 

Okay, hot shot. You wanna play games. We'll play games. 

"Jo-osh?"

He pokes his head out of his office door. He was so watching me from the other side. Grrr

I ostentatiously pick up the Lyman cookie, and bite off its other leg, chewing loudly. Josh stands there with a mock expression of horror.

"You bit my leg off!" This was said entirely too loud for my liking. Now some interns are giving me weird looks. 

"I can't believe you bit my leg off!" 

I just chew complacently. 

Sam happens to be returning from getting coffee. Josh sidles up to him, pointing accusingly at me. "She bit my leg off!"

"What?"

"Look, look, what she did!"

I hold up the legless cookie for Sam's benefit. He smiles but recovers quickly in deference to Josh. "You have no legs," he comments observantly. 

"Tell me about it," Josh mutters. 

"Now he doesn't need the crutch," I say.

"You made the cookie a crutch?" Sam asks bewildered.

Sheepish grin from Josh. 

"Like we don't have enough problems on our hands right now, and you made a cookie a crutch?"

"It's a fine piece of workmanship!" Josh says defensively. "Besides, I made it while I was on hold."

"Oh, well, that makes it okay then."

Sam leaves, shaking his head in disbelief. I return the cookie and the crutch to Josh. 

"You took a bite out of my cookie," he mumbles.

"So what? Now I have cooties?"

"You bit my leg off." Whining now. 

"The amputation was for the best."

"That's what all you crack pot doctors say." Ah. All's well again. 

We both return to our desks. "Oh and Josh?"

"Hmm?"

"You were tasty too." 

Got a big Lyman grin before the door closes. Funny, my headache didn't seem that bad for a while there. Thank goodness for over the counter drugs.

10:59 pm

Not a bad day. Tomorrow's going to be worse. Mrs. Landingham's funeral, plus the disclosure and press conference. It's going to be hell. 

There's a storm brewing. I don't just mean that in my figurative diarist way but literally. You know how you can tell it's going to rain? There's that smell in the air and the weight in the clouds and you just know. 

It's going to rain tomorrow. I need to find my umbrella. I can't seem to find it in the hall closet and I hope Candi didn't steal it cuz then I'd have to hurt her. I asked her cats. They don't know either. 

It doesn't rain but it pours. What an apt saying, that. Of course, it adds to the ever mounting heap o' cliches that I'm creating but right now I don't care. These things come in threes.

It's gonna pour tomorrow. And I don't have my umbrella. 

TBC

Author's Note: Hard at work on Part 4which of course will take place during "Two Cathedrals"- that Wed being "tomorrow" any last minute ideas? Drop me a line- nefret21217@yahoo.com


	4. Hostages: 57 People and 1 Umbrella

Wednesday, April 18th

Author's Note: Sorry for the delay. Hope it's worth it. Anyway- small point to clarify: in order to fit in my story line, "Two Cathedrals" takes place in April when, as we all know, it actually takes place in May. I also hope to account for Sam's jittery behavior and his insistence that the disclosure be called off. Beware, major spoilers! Set before and during season finale. Not to mention my sincerest apologies to Aaron Sorkin for stealing some dialogue all in good fun. 

****

Wednesday, April 18th. 10:32 am. _Number of headaches still 1. Percentage of time spent worrying about 3rd disaster 100. Number of umbrellas found 0. Number of umbrellas borrowed 1. _

Today's the day. Every one is so jittery- it gives us a false illusion of action. Like the old days. Instead of running around to accomplish things, we're like chickens with their heads cut off, frantically running in all directions as we wait for things to happen. 

The funeral's around noon. The announcement: prime time, eight o'clock sharp. And then the press conference at nine. 

Then: all hell shall break loose. As if it hasn't already. 

There has to be a positive side. There's always a silver lining, isn't there? Isn't that what people say? 

People suck. I have been trying for two days straight now to keep a cheery disposition in the face of adversity. And people not only think I'm insane, but my boss ate me yesterday, and I still have some unresolved feelings about that. 

It comes in threes. 

Unfortunately, I mentioned this to Sam. Which I probably shouldn't have done, because if he wasn't wound tight as a drum before, he is now. And when Sam gets a hold of something like that- he doesn't stop. I heard him and Toby arguing by Mr. Coffee this morning:

"Threes, Toby."

"Yeah."

"Something's going to happen. Something really bad is going to happen and we are powerless to resist."

"Yeah."

"Armageddon could be approaching right now-"

"Okay, Sam? If you go any where near caffeine today, I will impale you upon the battlements with a large pike." 

"The White House doesn't have battlements." 

"Won't stop me."

"Okay. I think I'll just see what Josh is up to then."

"Good idea." And Toby took Sam's coffee cup into his custody all morning.

Sam, however, told Josh, who of course mentioned that to me. 

"You told Sam that things come in threes?"

"Yes, Josh."

"Albeit that Sam probably already knew that things come in threes, but you had to mention it to him today of all days?"

"It slipped out."

"Yeah."

"But it's true."

"True or not, we do not need a Deputy Communications officer more insane than usual."

"Sam is not insane- he is reasonably concerned."

"Can you just refrain from mentioning this again?"

"I make no promises, Joshua."

"Could you get me some coffee?"

"No."

"It's going to be a very stressful day"

"No."

"You're not as nice anymore."

"So bite me."

"I did that yesterday." Smirk. Good God, he's insufferable when he flirts with me. And cute. And sexy- ding-DONG!

He only got a smile. No coffee. It's a compromise- one of the tactics of good political strategy, according to Mr. High and Mighty Josh. Anyway, he had to go give CJ the tobacco thing before this morning's briefing. 

It's been his only source of confidence. Lately I've been hoping just as much that he gets to kick some ass. I carefully reminded him not to tell CJ that his comments were "spicy." 

"Why not?"

"Cuz she has enough problems as it is."

"I am lighting a fire."

"I hope that's rhetoric there, cuz you have a rep for burning down the West Wing already."

"Those cigarette companies and their cronies are gonna burn and years from now, it shall be said, Josh Lyman lit a fire."

"Uh-huh."

"Well, then, Miss Smarty-Pants, what should I say?"

"Let Bartlet be Bartlet."

"Let Bartlet be Bartlet?"

"It's his fire too."

"Let Bartlet be Bartlet. I have to remember that."

He actually wore a complete suit today. No wrinkles or stains. A good suit. On par with the Joey Lucas/regular Tuesday suit. And a tie. He's been sitting in his office, having meetings all morning **with a tie on**. It's almost surreal. I feel a deep-seated need to check to make sure he's not a replicant or an alien bounty hunter or something that might look like Josh but can really suck my blood. Still, despite the dapper outfit, he still looked incredibly weary. Not in top notch fighting form. 

And as a result of Toby's threats, Sam was not at his best either for most of the morning. Sad, really, to have a perfectly good speechwriter just snap like that. Josh insisted that it was my fault. Sam apparently wants to call the whole thing off now because it's cursed. Decided not to respond to Josh in any way- that just makes him more annoyed- until had scary revelation:

What if Sam snapping **was** number three? 

Oh dear. 

****

11:34 am

Ohmygoodness, ohmygoodness, ohmygoodness. Charlie just stopped by. I have a job to do. For the president.

Me. Donnatella Moss. My lips were numb, I couldn't even do auto-gibberish. 

That is, until Charlie very un-cavalierly mentioned that the president did not specifically ask for _me_ to do him a favor but rather for just some help in a very general sense. 

I suppose that's okay too. The only kind of help people think I'm good at providing is the devious kind. CJ thought so when she was under Bast's curse and so did Kathy after she ate another one of Sam's donuts. 

But hey, I serve at the pleasure of the president. I just hope I get it right. 

Something about a tropical storm? It's moving from Florida to South Carolina and according to Charlie, the president says that he's pretty sure it's weird to have a tropical storm at this time of year. 

The omen of "Number Three" rears its ugly head. Some freaky-ass weather is gonna blow a power line and electrocute someone. Note to self: remind Josh to stay away from live wires. 

Speaking of Josh, Charlie is also looking for pallbearers for the funeral. Guess who I volunteered?

Uh-huh. And I think I'll go tell him about that right now.

"Hey Josh?" 

"Yeah?"

"You almost ready to go?"

"Hmmmm?"

"The motorcade, Josh. It's going to leave in fifteen minutes."

"I only have twenty-after"

"Your watch sucks, Josh."

"Okay." He sighs heavily, tossing the papers he was looking at into yet another one of many piles on his desk. He calls it a filing system. I call it a mess. He gets up and stretches, then is forced to look around for his jacket. Ha-ha, I got it first.

"This is a nice suit." Casually remarked as I help him get the jacket on. "A Joey Lucas suit?"

Angry, exasperated sigh. "Donna, this is my regular"

"Wednesday suit? No- that one generally has lots of stains and wrinkles. Plus no tie."

"I wear ties, " he says sullenly, attempting to straighten his. Ah, it's times like these when a man realizes he really needs you.

Smile. I grip his tie and begin to fix it for him. "Uh-huh. Sure you do." Deep breath. "Josh? Can you be a pallbearer?"

"A what?"

"A pallbearer at the funeral. I volunteered you."

"You volunteered me?"

"Charlie was looking for able-bodied gentlemen."

"And you volunteered me."

"Uh-huh. And you really shouldn't argue with a someone who has the opportunity and means to throttle you."

"Doesn't, you know, the family generally get people to do that?" He sighs, running a hand through his tangled hair. 

"She didn't have a lot of family left," I say softly, resting my hands on his lapels. So that line of professionalism is getting a bit blurry. At this point, I don't care.

"Oh. So what exactly do I do?" Looking down on me, as if I have all the answers. 

"Sit up front with the others-I think Charlie was going to ask Sam and Toby too. And carry the casket outside at the end."

"I can do that. I'm very able-bodied." Goddamn if he ain't right- and at this close proximity- it's practically verbal foreplay. Oooohprobably not the most appropriate feelings for today but standing close, my hands resting on his chest, god help me, I think my knees are rubbery.

I didn't reply, instead I ended up lowering my eyes and contemplating those rubbery knees. When I look up, I see his eyes full of concern. "I'm sorry, Donnatella," he whispers, rubbing my shoulders.

Why oh why must he be so sensitive and nice? 

"I'm fine."

"You always say that."

"So do you."

Silence. All I can do is look at him, as he looks at me, standing still in a half embrace, each of us more concerned for one another than ourselves. 

"I didn't light a fire."

"I heard. The Haiti thing?"

"Yeah." I step back, the moment is over. "You should get to the motorcade."

"Yeah." He sighs again, and looks down, before he retreats and turns to get his coat. I begin to leave but stop at the door, following my customary habits. 

As he shrugs into his raincoat, I decide it's time to share my little snippet of hope. 

"Josh?" 

He turns around. 

" _The growing good of the world is partly dependant on unhistoric acts; and that things are not so ill with you and me as they might have been, is half owing to the number who lived faithfully a hidden life, and rest in unvisited tombs_.' " 

He weakly smiles. 

"I was saving that for a rainy day."

"It sure is raining now, isn't it?"

"Yeah. It is."

"Donnatella?"

"Yes, Josh?"

"Thank you."

"Anytime, Joshua. Anytime."

I feel better now that I've told him. I hope it helps him like it helped me. It's the little things now that matter- that help to get us through the muddle of gigantic obstacles in the face of overwhelming odds. 

Sam's still freaking out and lobbying for postponement, Toby's been bellowing at people about the lighting in the Mural Room from the window, Leo's constantly in meetings, CJ's snapping at shadows and no one has seen the President at all. Not to mention Josh's spit-fire being put on hiatus. 

We all need those moments of normalcy, of hope. Of fire- to ward off the rain. Now if only I could find my umbrella before the services.

****

1:12pm

Before he left for the motorcade, Josh saw me rummaging through my desk for the aforementioned runaway umbrella. He lent me his, smiled and went to meet Sam and Toby. 

Ever the gentleman. I felt like I should of simpered and curtsied at the gesture, but I just kind of gaped in elated astonishment while he walked off. 

Though now his suit will get wet. Damn, and he was looking so good all morning too. 

But then, I would probably think he'd look hot in just about anything, so I guess that's a bit unnecessary. 

Geez, are the two of us getting sappy. I'm quoting literature to him and he's lending me his umbrella. And we're not even dating! 

Yet. 

A girl can dream, can't she? 

I went to the cathedral with Margaret and Carol. We sat next to each other, right behind CJ. So my view was a bit obscured but the church is so large, it almost didn't matter. 

It was so beautiful. The tall white walls and the elaborate rose window in the back. I would kill to get married there. (By now, I should think it's obvious whom I envision the groom to be.) If I had my funeral there, I also wouldn't mind that either- though I hope the marriage comes first, and the funeral long after. 

The turnout was amazing. The church was full- not an easy task, mind you. You can lay the Washington Monument on its side and it would fit inside the National Cathedral. But then- everyone knows that. 

I sat in my assigned pew, clutching a tissue for the entire service. The funny thing is, I didn't cry. I couldn't cry. 

I mean, it's not like I'm impervious to everything that's going on. I'm scared, I'm worried. Heartsick. Grieving. Stressed. Like everyone else. 

I guess it's just the Moss way. Forbearance in the face of tragedy, and refusal to admit our true feelings to ourselves and others. Hell, it took me two and a half years to come to the conclusion that I was in love with Josh. And I still won't tell _him_ that. 

I bottle things up. It's what I do. It's unhealthy and probably unwise, but it remains locked inside and gets channeled into worry over meaningless things. Like falling satellites and the curse of threes. 

Charlie read well. He carried himself with a lot of dignity, I thought. Much more than I would have had if I had read. **Then **I would have cried- simply because then I would be more embarrassed afterwards. 

__

"In the eyes of the unwise they appeared to die, but they are at peace" 

She was a remarkable woman. There are no more like her left. She buried two sons and a husband. Made it to the White House- three feet away from the Oval Office no less. The President respected her, relied on her, practically grew up with her.

She was more than just an assistant. She believed in him, helped him get through what needed to be done. And reminded him of the things that should be done, lest he forget. 

No one wants to eat their vegetables but it's the right thing to do. People may not want to pay higher taxes so that welfare programs can help those in need but it's still the right thing to do, like it or not. 

__

"Their hope is full of immortality"

I wonder if Josh feels this way about me. I mean, ever since the Sculpture Garden Epiphany, I have known that he, at the very least, likes me. But I wonder if he thinks of me like the President must be thinking of Mrs. Landingham right now- with admiration, respect and awe. (As Sam would say, three words that mean the same thing.)

Nah. I mean, with the "gomers" I date, he doesn't seem to have much awe for me there. Or with my penmanship. Or with how I refused to loan Mexico money. That is, until he convinced me otherwise. 

He took the time to convince me though. He got out his sister's eighth grade history textbook and pled his case to me, right there in his office, as if I were someone that mattered. As if I were more than an assistant. 

A girl can dream, can't she? 

****

3:32 pm

Have had troubling news since lunch. Kathy heard from Ginger who heard from Carol who spoke to Margaret at the coffee machine around three that the President is making his decision now. 

Reelection.

The fate of our futures.

Just him and Leo, in a locked room, contemplating the pros, weighing the cons.

This can't be happening. This can't be how it works. 

Must keep reminding self to breathe in and out. Believe that brain has seriously malfunctioned and is no longer obligated to sustain life without constant reminders. If this were a hundred years ago, I would have had the vapors.

My life as I know it could be no more. 

And it all comes down to two men behind closed doors, mulling over the biggest decision of their lives. 

This cannot be fair. This cannot be how it works. It just can't.

Right now, Josh, CJ, Sam and Toby (or the Big Four, as I am calling them now) are having a council of war in Toby's office. Most likely, coming up with strategy on what to do with whatever decision Leo and the President come up with. 

What if he says no? What if, this is it? What is left for me now?

I could always go back to school. I should. I can't meander my way through jobs without a degree. 

But what about Josh? What about this life I've made for myself here? Sure, my apartment sucks, my roommate's a bitch, my pay isn't all that great and I have a non-existent love life. But I have friends. And a fulfilling job. And the _hope_ of a love life with the man who just happens to be my boss. 

I can't give this up. Where should I go? What should become of me?

What will become of Josh? Will he work for Hoynes? I mean, he did before he joined up with Bartlet. Will he stay in the West Wing for four more years? And if so, with me as his assistant?

President Hoynes. For some reason, that doesn't sound right to me. 

I mean, I've met him and he seems like an okay guy. Not a great guy, not someone I'd like to see on a daily basis, but he's okay. 

Josh meanders from respect to complete loathing. But I think that's just the jogging meetings talking there. 

What if he becomes Chief of Staff? Good heavens, I'd have a melt down like Margaret and start coming up with bizarre conspiracy theories about the mess' salads. 

This can't be happening. I don't want my future decided my these men without my input. I don't want to leave, I don't want to be without the place and the people that have been my home these last few years. 

Josh is back. That was quick, it's only four o'clock. But Ginger did mention something about Leo making sure Toby had some appointment this afternoon, so I guess that's now. 

I have to confront Josh. I need to know what the hell is going on- I haven't seen him since the funeral and I'm pretty sure I missed out on a whole lot of stuff at that meeting. I need him to reassure me that I have a future here. 

And that the future is with him.

I should carry a folder in there with me to pretend I need to talk on work related matters. There's a pale blue one that has some recipes in it from the gals that I've been collecting. Good as any, I suppose. 

"It was a nice service, don't you think?"

His back is to me, and he's bending over his desk, intent on a file. It's almost like he didn't hear me. As if I wasn't there. 

"Yeah. Yeah, it was." Says a disembodied voice that seems to be emanating from Josh. Doom and gloom has descended upon us, I know it. Number three, number three.

"I'm going to run across the street to the OAOB for a minute. The President's still after information on the storm. I'm not sure why he's got it in his teeth."

Great excuse, me! And it's partly true too. I was going to do just that, as soon as Josh tells me that the world remains round and this is not the way the system works and that we will be together and employed for a long time. 

"Yeah," says the disembodied voice once more. 

Uh-oh. Must have been a bad meeting. 

Can't control myself any longer. "Josh, can this really be how it works? We have no idea if he's gonna run again, he's in a room with Leo making a decision? Two people in a matter of minutes? This is how it works?"

The phone rings. Goddammit! I want my answer! I deserve an answer!

A sigh from Josh. He moves aside so I can answer the phone. "It's how it works today."

I cannot believe this. He cannot simply sit back and take this lightly. Well, I know he's not taking this lightly cuz he looks and sounds like he was hit by a Mack truck. But this still is not fair.

I pick up the phone. "Josh Lyman's office."

"Donna. Is he there?" 

"Josh? It's Leo." I hand him the phone. 

It's got to be the decision. I try to read Josh's face- but curse the man, he can be so unreadable at times, and just as I was about to come to a conclusion as to what the decision was based on Josh's imperceptible physical signs, Toby burst in, scaring the shit out of me.

More than usual, that is.

"Josh? Greg Summer-Hayes was here to offer me a job- Leo got me a life boat. I'm gonna rip his arms off and beat him with his own."

Do you now realize why I live in fear of this man? 

Thankfully, Josh interrupted him before he could elaborate further. "That was Leo. He wants us over there." As Josh pushed his way through the door, he said enigmatically, "It's Answer B."

I follow him down the hall on his way to the Oval Office. Toby, thankfully seems to be frozen still in Josh's office. Which, quite frankly is fine by me, cuz I have some more questions for Josh and I like my arms exactly where they are.

"What's Answer B?"

"Donna-"

"What's Answer B, Josh? Does this mean he's running?"

"Donna-"

"How could he decide so fast? There are things to take into account, issues that need to be discussed with people other than just Leo-"

"Donna-"

"What is Answer B?" I'm pleading with him now. I need an answer. We stop in front of Leo's office.

"Go and get the storm info."

"To hell with the storm info. What is going on, Josh? What did he decide?"

"He needs you to do a job right now. Please." 

I look away, and see Toby coming down the hall with Sam close on his heels. Damn. "Yeah." 

"Thank you," he says with such sincerity I can almost forgive him for keeping me in the dark. Almost.

"I'm using your umbrella," I say curtly. "And I may or may not give it back."

I walk off before he can reply to that. If he isn't going to inform me about my fate, he can damn well get wet. This is a hostage situation. 

The umbrella for Answer B.

****

11:02 pm

What a night this has been. I think I must amend my earlier statement- things might just in fact come in fours. 

There's asbestos in the East Room. Been there the entire time we've worked here. 

I feel ill. 

Found out belatedly when I came back from speaking with the head forecaster from the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration. Why am I always the last to hear of these things? 

Josh was not in least worried about his health. He should be. He has a delicate system. 

He thinks this is another wave of satellite paranoia. I say that if I continue to feel ill, I'm suing the White House. 

I don't think I need reproduce Josh's comments on that. He was being very rude. 

So I still have his umbrella. I've decided that the hostage situation can and must continue, since technically, he never told me about Answer B. 

I had to find out with the rest of the world. When the President answered Sandy's question- after completely ignoring the Times' chief medical correspondent. Lawrence Altman is his name, I think. He was CJ's man. 

And I bet she's pretty mad right now. 

He's running again. 

Though right now, I'm not sure if that's for better or worse. There'll be subpoenas and hearing and mudslinging and long nights and lies and truth and in general, a big mess.

But I'm going to battle it through with Josh. 

He told me afterwards that he had thought the answer would be no. He had seemed pretty despondent after I had left. I wonder if Josh?

The little things will see us through. I know it. 

And so does the President. I got to talk with him, by the way. Just me and him. I didn't even look at my notes. I answered everything- and I could have gone on even longer if CJ hadn't come in with last minute prepping advice. 

He was intent on my every word, hunched over in his seat and clasping his hands together. It was very gratifying.

What sucks is that the storm really is a freaky occurrence. Not once in the last century has a something like this cropped up near Washington so long before the tropical storm season begins (which I now know is June 1st to November 30th). 

Tell me that this is not a sign. It's an omen if I ever saw one and I don't need to be able to read palms to tell you that. 

Yet, the President seemed to find comfort in those factoids so maybe it is just me. Yet, I should think that a man of his great intelligence should have read "Julius Caesar" and everyone knows that a storm is a sign. A bad sign. A portent of things to come. 

A Number Four, so to speak. 

Leo wouldn't let anyone work on strategy anymore. As soon as the conference was over, he basically ushered everyone to their cars, mandating that they get a good night's sleep in their own beds before the shit hits the morning papers. 

Needless to say, I had to practically drag Josh to his car. 

At least he apologized for not telling me.

"I just couldn't"

"I know, Josh."

"Yeah."

"In the car, Joshua. You're stalling."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

"Am no-ot!"

"Get in the damn car!"

"Alright already." Yet he didn't move. Sometimes I question if he didn't get those diplomas by mail "I thought it was over, for a few hours there."

"Me too." He's hesitated. He had something to say and he was contemplating whether he should say it or not. Oh no oh no oh no 

"I don't know what I would do without you." 

GULP. Ohmychristalive. Quip, woman, quip! "Probably end up hopelessly lost in every way while wearing disreputable clothes."

"Probably." He grinned then got all serious again. "Just drive careful, okay?" 

"Okay. Get in the car."

"I'd run red lights for you, you know?

"Not tonight, Josh."

"No. Not tonight."

It was really touching actually. I suppose it's my over romantic notions that convolute what he says into this warped fantasy that he would be stricken with grief and fling himself over my grave in tears, crying out my name to the hills, had it been me and not Mrs. L. No, the moors. Like Heathcliff and Cathy. 

What is it with me and those Gothic, masochistic heroines?

God help me, I love that man.

I am a woman on the edge. That line of ours is being walked like a tightrope and right now, I'm teetering on the edge. Just because he's going to run doesn't mean he'll win. We're on the brink of what could be the end of it all. I can't really say if it's a triumph or a loss. We're taking the biggest risk of our lives right here, right now. 

We're on the brink of something big. 

Isn't there some kind of cliché about there being a fine line between insanity and genius? 

This is line of insanity. 

Of to be or not to be.

That is the question. 

As I drove myself home, the sound of the raindrops against my windshield was doing nothing for my morale. So I turned on the radio and flicked around and caught some Bob Marley: 

"Get up, stand up. Everythin' will be all right"

Words to live by, my friends. Words to live by. 


End file.
